


Amoureux

by Batsymomma11



Series: Blark Files [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Feels, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 05:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: "Bruce is standing very close, much closer than we’ve ever dared risk and there’s a part of me that wants to back up. Because we can’t. Because it could never work out. We live two separate lives in two separate cities that might as well be from across the globe for how different they are. And Bruce is—Gods, he looks so good like this. So different, open and soft and wary, but the same. Still the same man I’ve loved for years."





	Amoureux

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! I sat down to work on other writing and ended up with this instead. So, enjoy!
> 
> I do not own DC or its characters.
> 
> Amoureux--French for lover

**Clark**

My hands are shaking.

                I’m trying to look like this isn’t a big deal, at least, not like that. But it is, and I can’t. And I’m suddenly wondering if I can hyperventilate even if I don’t need to breathe. Is that even a possibility?

                It feels like it.

                Bruce is standing very close, much closer than we’ve ever dared risk and there’s a part of me that wants to back up. Because we _can’t_. Because it could never work out. We live two separate lives in two separate cities that might as well be from across the globe for how different they are. And Bruce is—Gods, he looks so good like this. So different, open and soft and wary, but the same. Still the same man I’ve loved for years.  

                He’s watching me. Looking for signals, trying to decipher what’s going on with my thoughts because I’m certain they are rushing through my eyes, one fear after the other like fireflies winking in and out. And Bruce would see them, because he’s Bruce. Because he’s the Bat. Because he’s been my best friend for twelve years and he knows me better than anyone.

                I want this. I don’t know if I can stop wanting it.

                But—

                “Clark?”

                I blink, focus on Bruce’s eyes, the delicate shade of navy that loops the pupil like a starburst into the gray and feel my mouth go dry. Bruce has always had lovely eyes. It’s why he keeps them covered as the Bat. Because they would be too distinctive—but also too revealing. If one bothers to look beyond the veneer of smiles or snarls, Bruce Wayne wears his heart in his eyes. I’ve only ever needed to look there to see it.

                He’s been telling me for years. Giving me permission for this, what we are going to do now, for years. I’ve just been too much of a coward to take him up on it.

                “I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this.”

                Bruce stiffens, a rip cord tugging down his back to straighten his spine and clench his jaw. He backs up. One step, two—I stop him with a hand on his bicep and hold him loosely. Those eyes dart to mine and I see them questioning, but also flickering with something like—hurt. I’ve hurt him. He made a move, finally after so many, many years and knowing looks and avoiding being alone with each other long enough for this to happen, he stretched out a tentative hand and I’ve all but slapped it away.

                “I want this.”

                 I say it quickly, a finger in a leaking dam.

                Bruce looks down at his feet, bare and vulnerable, on expensive carpeting. The lamplight is splashing color into the verdant weave and Bruce’s skin, warming him from pale crème to rose. No, I realize stupidly, he’s blushing. I’ve made Bruce blush.

                I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve embarrassed him or if it’s from upset. Perhaps both.

                “I’m just—I’m just scared Bruce.”

                Bruce flinches, tugging hard enough I release his arm and feel the loss immediately. He’s stepping away from me, moving back and I can feel the window closing and the panic setting in. What have I done? I’ve squandered the one opportunity I’m ever going to get, I’ve ruined things.

                “Please, please don’t walk away.”

                “You came here. You started this. I thought—” Bruce backs up further, sits heavily onto the mattress at his back and looks terribly lost, bereaved. “I thought you’d already decided. I thought that you coming here was answer enough.”

                “I wanted to come.”

                “It’s not enough.”

                I blink at him, feel the burn of emotion clawing up my throat and into my eyes, stinging them. “Let me start over. I’m sorry.”

                Bruce looks up, his mouth curving into a familiar frown and I can see him struggling to get over the hurt. To try again.

                “Do you think I’m not scared too, Clark? That this doesn’t frighten me beyond anything I’ve ever done?”

                “I didn’t—I thought—” I’m fumbling for words, grappling to find a foothold in the conversation and make this right. I do want to start over. I’d flown here knowing that when I did, Bruce would see it as an invitation. He’d see it as my confirmation of feelings and desires and wants that we’ve put on the back burner for so long they feel like hushed secrets that are never to be told. I didn’t count on what seeing Bruce waiting for me at the window, would do to me. That it would make me a clumsy fool with too fat of a tongue and rough shaking hands.

                I didn’t count on the paralyzing fear of physically being unable to control myself and hurt Bruce. I would never forgive myself. Ever.

                I want him. I want everything he’s willing to give me. I already know I’ll be greedy. I’ll take more than I probably should. I’ll want and want and want and Bruce will struggle to give. But we’ll figure it out because we’ve been friends far longer than we’ve wanted to be lovers. And this should be no different. It should be an extension of that friendship, just on a deeper more intimate level.

                But it will be different. It will change everything.

                _It already has…_

                “You thought?” Bruce prompts me, his expression wary and guarded. Wounded.

                “I thought it would be easier.”

                Bruce’s mouth flattens and thins into a grimace.

                “No, Bruce—” I step closer, watch as Bruce stiffens on the mattress and peers up at me with every muscle in his body ready to bolt and find that kneeling between his legs isn’t as hard as I’d expect. I’m eye level with him now, on bent knee, and I force those trembling hands to rest softly on his thighs. I can feel the muscles in his legs flex beneath my palms, warm and welcoming. Strong.

                He’s so strong.  

                Bruce swallows roughly and I watch his throat work. I see his pulse flutter faster and faster as I stay in place and just breathe through the tremors he’s causing in me. This close, the smell of his skin, of his desire, is so overwhelming I feel faint. I can’t stop breathing it in, but I’m afraid I might frighten Bruce by savaging him in that mattress if I keep doing it.

                Everything feels sharper and brighter. More keen. Unforgiving.

                Too good. Too much.

                I want. I want so much it aches down low in my stomach and curls my toes in my boots.

                “Clark—Clark I—” Bruce is shaking all over, an explosion of pent up energy and longing ready to burst at the seams, “please say something.”

                I blink, wet my dry lips then nod. I feel drunk. If I could get intoxicated, I imagine it would feel similar to this. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

                Bruce’s pupils bleed wider and he nods, “I know. You won’t.”

                “I can’t promise that.”

                “I don’t need a promise.”

                “Bruce,” I’m leaning in, brushing the blade of my nose along his cheek, feeling the whisper of his whiskers like a thousand caresses and it undoes me. It ruins me. “God, I need you. I need you so badly.”

                “It’s—It’s OK,” Bruce whispers, “We’ll be OK.”

                Before I can stop myself again, before I can overthink it, I reach for the hem of Bruce’s t-shirt and pull it up and over his head. He lets me, keeps his eyes on my face. His face is flushed to the tops of his ears and he shivers when I brush the pads of my fingers over a cheekbone, studying and memorizing. He’s so beautiful like this.  

                “Your turn.”

                I blink, realize what he means, then obey. I could undress in an instant, have everything off the both of us without thought. But it would be too fast. I need slow. I sense Bruce does too, so I undress Bruce like he’s porcelain. In comparison to me, he is. I skate fingers over places I’ve always wanted to touch, I revel in the soft sounds Bruce makes when I hesitate on scars or kiss the newly exposed skin with chaste feather light kisses.

                When I’ve got him naked and stretched out on the mattress, there is something that clicks in my chest seeing him like this. A rightness to it. A steadiness.

                I realize I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not frightened of what this means to finally be doing this.

                I’m not worried I’ll hurt him in the throes of passion.

                Because he’s mine. He’s saying it with his eyes and when he murmurs loving words in my ear like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched, words we’ve never dared say before. Words I never would have thought Bruce capable of. And I could never hurt this man. Not like that. It would go against my very DNA to harm him like that.

                “We waited too long,” Bruce murmurs, his voice sluggish and drunk off the touches. “Too long.” It’s rewarding to know I’ve done that to him. Pleasant to know he is just as affected as I am.

                I capture his mouth and kiss him deeply, putting a hand on either side of his face to frame it. He melts into the mattress, turns to molten steel beneath me and I’m forced to bite my lip and draw back. Forced to take a breath, two, then focus on calming myself again.

                Having Bruce respond like this, having him arch and groan, its so good its almost too good. I need to slow. I need to be careful. Always aware of my strength.

                “Did I do something—”

                “No Bruce. No,” I kiss his throat, kiss the pulse that means life. Human. Fragile. “I just need to go slow. Very slow.”

                Bruce watches me, traces calloused fingers down my ribs, “OK. I don’t mind.”

                I smirk at him, moving to nibble that collarbone, to lave it with kisses, “I know.”

                We make love then.

                It isn’t particularly perfect. Which is what makes it perfect. And after it all, when the room comes back into focus, I’m curled around him, acting as the big spoon and Bruce is tracing patterns into the arm I’ve draped over his stomach. I can tell he’s close to sleep because his breathing is slow and slowing. His heart is a steady thump against my chest from his back.

                _Mine._

                “Everything you wanted?” Bruce whispers.

                I press a kiss to the back of his neck, tighten my hold till he sighs and stretches to arch into it, then smile. “Yes. Better.”

                Bruce goes quiet for so long I think he might have finally nodded off. He hasn’t been sleeping well again. He needs the sleep. But he isn’t quite there. Right before the cusp of sleep, from the sound of his voice, but not yet.

                “I love you Clark. I—I always have.”

                The words are like a physical branding in my chest, a deep soul-wrenching ache and I press into it. I inhale softly and let them soak and soothe. I let them become a part of who I am and who I will be. Because I will never forget how perfect they sound coming from Bruce. How right.

                “I love you too, Bruce.”

                Bruce sighs in response and I swear I can feel them branding into him too.


End file.
